


The way you turn me on

by Florchis



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, Fitz is a Romantic, Fluff, Freckles, Kissing, LLF Comment Project, Nudity, Scars discussion, demisexual fitz, fs smutathon, some sex talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 08:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11779482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/pseuds/Florchis
Summary: Jemma knows Fitz is not that much into sex, so she believes he is in it for her brain. Fitz proves her how wrong she is.





	The way you turn me on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theclaravoyant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/gifts).



> From a tumblr prompt, from the FS Smutathon: "I really really love your mind, but let me tell you how much I also love your body for awhile"

Title from "Teenage dream" because [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wcDS5hpxnU) came up while I was writing this story, and for some reason it just _wrecked me._  

* * *

He finds about it by chance.

In his defense, he is not the one who is someplace he shouldn’t be; _ they  _ are the ones not supposed to be talking about this in the lab. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, he just can’t help stopping on his tracks when he hears his own name from Daisy’s mouth.

“Oh, Simmons, look at this. I’m hella sure Fitz would appreciate it if you got your hands on something like this. I mean, isn’t your anniversary next week?”

“What are you-? _Oh._ I thought you were talking about a piece of tech. Oh.” A pause. “Fitz doesn’t care for that kind of thing.”

“Oh, he is the kind of man who thinks that no piece of fabric is better than your skin? That’s neat.”

“Daisy, I don’t think we really should be talking about this here-”

“Come on, Simmons, don’t be such a buzzkill. We never get to talk about this stuff, what with Fitz and you being attached at the hip all the time and everything.”

That was probably his cue to move forward and leave them to their girl chat, but what Jemma said next made it impossible for him to leave just yet.

“It’s just that, um, let’s just said that he is not much in it for the sex. So no, I don’t think lingerie would be an appropriate present for him, I’m sure he rather do some other kind of activity.”

Daisy replies something, but her comment goes over Fitz’s head, because he is too busy being flummoxed over what he just heard. _ Where in hell does she get that idea from?       _

He leaves the lab hastily, because he feels uncomfortable enough about the amount he has already eavesdropped. Besides, he has a lot of planning to do.

* * *

He is worried he might have gone a little overboard and a little too cheesy, especially considering that Jemma is not the classical romantic type that wants or expects to be swept off her feet (she would say that _ of course  _ she isn’t, because nobody fits under that stereotype, but he knows she is wrong, because he is. He totally fits under that romantic stereotype.)

But he has been clearly giving her the wrong signals, and he needs to neutralise that; if he needs to be a little over the top to achieve it, he is okay with that. 

“Fitz?” She sounds surprised and a little apprehensive, and, did she really think he would let their anniversary pass without further fuss than the breakfast in bed he gave her that morning? What kind of husband does she think he is?

“In the bedroom!”

A couple minutes later she enters their bedroom slowly, already barefoot, and Fitz takes it as his chance to ambush her with a kiss.

It is not that kissing has gotten old between them, but it is true that it can be an activity that sometimes is done in automatic mode, so he puts a lot of effort on making it as deliberate and as conscious as possible. She is a little startled at first, but soon enough she relaxes under his ministrations until he almost feels her melting into his arms. 

“Let me take you to bed.”

“Mmkay.”

He bends to put an arm behind her knees to raise her bridal style, and Jemma kicks a little.

“Fitz! That is not really necessary! I mean, you didn’t even carry me on our actual wedding night.”

He feels a little taken aback by her comment and by her laugh; they have always had fun together during intimate moments, but in his head this was a serious demonstration of his attraction for her: he didn’t imagine any laughter involved. But thinking better about it, it’s a good compromise between the point he is trying to prove and how their daily relationship actually works: he probably wouldn’t be as invested in sex with her as he is if it didn’t involve having so much fun.   

“I resent that comment, Dr. Simmons.” He lays her in the bed as ceremoniously as he can manage. “Especially considering that I had a broken ankle during our wedding, because the bloody cosmos wouldn’t let us have one happy moment without hardships.” 

He looks at her curiously when Jemma doesn't reply automatically, as she always does, with _ the cosmos doesn’t want anything; _ she is looking around at the scented candles and the flowers and the dimmed lights and the soft music, like she haven’t noticed them until now. Fitz waits sitting on his ankles, because the moment to come clear is drawing closer.

“Fitz? What is all this?”

“Happy anniversary, Jemma.”

She looks him over for a couple of seconds, considering.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I recall that our usual anniversary date is treating ourselves to a show or a concert and a nice restaurant. And usually cake. We seldom go so… lush.”

He lies next to her, then, and starts drawing light, non-sense designs on her hip with his left hand.

“What are you talking about, Jemma? You know I’m a romantic.”

She bites her lower lip.

“A romantic? Yes. But this feels more… _ suggesting  _ than romantic.”

He kisses her again, drawing her closer until their chests are flushed together. She lets herself be kissed, and Fitz takes the opportunity to pepper every inch of her face with kisses: her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin. It is not the first time they have done this, of course, but all the other times it was something sweet and endearing, and Jemma is right, this time he is trying to make it feel- and succeeding quite a bit, if he might say so himself- more arousing than anything else.          

When he finally frees her face, his heart beating uncontrollably on his chest, Jemma opens her eyes slowly, her voice soft. 

“Fitz, what is going on?”

He has never been good at keeping secrets from her, and the point of this whole thing is for her to understand. And he has learned that there is no better way to make her understand than to share with her what he is thinking and feeling.  

“I am sorry, I didn't mean to intrude in your privacy, but I overheard you talking to Daisy the other day. About how you think I don't care much about sex with you, and I wanted to show you-”

“Oh, Fitz. That wasn't what I meant. It wasn’t meant to make you feel bad, even though I didn’t know you were hearing it. I don't... I don't resent you or feel like something is lacking, or, or something. I just... want to respect your boundaries, that is.”

But that is entirely the point, isn’t it? That she still thinks, after all this time, that he is somehow doing all this for her sake, when in reality she couldn’t be more wrong.

“Well, but if you feel like I don't like sex with you, I have failed to convey-” 

“It is not that I think that you don't _like_ it, but I know that it is not your top priority. I know that you are more into my brain than into my body, and really, how could I complain about that?”

He inhales and exhales a couple times, looking very deliberately into her eyes.

“Can I get a full sentence in, please?”

She averts her eyes, her cheeks pink-tinted.

“Yes, of course, sorry.”

“Jemma, I very much appreciate you trying so hard to respect my boundaries. But in order for that to work, I also need you to trust me to tell you which my boundaries are. Can you do that for me?” He waits till she nods eagerly. “The thing is that what you said about sex not being my top priority is at the same time true _ and  _ untrue. You know already that _ sex as a category in general  _ is not much my thing.”

“Yeah, that was exactly why I-”

“Jemma.” He gives her a scolding look and then a kiss on the tip of her nose to soften it. “You promised to let me finish my argument.”

“Actually, I only agreed to let you have _ one  _ full sentence.”

_ “Jemma.” _

“Fine, fine, go on.”  

“What happens between us is not _ sex as a category in general. _ I love your mind, you are not wrong about that. I love your heart, too.” She is looking at him with intent eyes, that don’t move from his own ones even while he moves a hand to stroke her tight, knee to hip and back. “But I also love your body. So very much. I can not run an analysis on what I love more, because what I love is _ you, _ the whole package. I love your body because it is attached to your brain, but the opposite is also true. I love sex with you because it is _ with you, _ with your mind and your heart _ and  _ your body. And clearly I have been failing at letting you know how much all that is important to me. So please, let me show you now.”

He knows well enough which are his _ideal_ expectations about her answer and which should be his _realistic_ expectations. Of course, Jemma manages to beat even those, because she bursts out laughing.

“I can’t believe you are trying to use _ that  _ line on me.”

He exhales, relieved, because he did it almost unconsciously, but it’s good that they both are at a point in time and in healing that allows them to take that remembrance lightly and not as something catastrophic.

“It’s not a line! It was an honest to god request.”

She smirks, and disentangles herself from his embrace to take off her top.

“Come, on, _show me_ then.”

* * *

She is shameless about her nudity, and he has to put a little distance between them, because he feels dizzy with it. 

He took some notes beforehand, a little _aide-mémoir,_ so to speak, because he was feeling a little nervous and didn't want to forget anything (one doesn't live side by side with Jemma Simmons for a decade and a half without picking up some habits), but now that she is stretched naked in front of him, he realizes he doesn't need his notes: she is _perfect_ and beautiful and glowing, and he just needs to put that whole bunch of emotions and physical sensations into coherent sentences and actions. Especially actions.

He takes off his tie, because he is feeling breathless, and while he carefully puts it over his nightstand, he thinks about the use he had originally planned for it. Not this time, after all, because this is about Jemma, and he wants her to help him and guide him and demand from him, but maybe another time. Probably soon.

“You are so beautiful.” As far as compliments go, that one is pretty basic, but he does good with basic. Nothing better than a firm ground when one wants to build upon it.

“Yeah?” She knows it. That’s something he admires fiercely about her, how confident she is on her own skin, how little she needs others’ opinions to prove her own worth. That’s as true in the lab as it is in the bedroom. Sometimes he would like to be a little bit more like her on that aspect. “Tell me more.”

She is right: this time it is, in fact, about _ his  _ opinion and about what she makes _ him  _ feel. Fitz inhales deeply, hoping that some of her confidence could be breathed in.

“I think that even before falling for _ you, _ I fell in love with your freckles.” He sits down next to her, who is laying down, his dark clothes a stark contrast against her fair skin. “You know I’m in love with the stars, and they feel sometimes like their earthly siblings.”

Jemma bites her lower lip, and he wonders if she is holding back a cackle, because what he just said is beyond cheesy. But she doesn’t say anything, so he keeps going, his fingers barely grazing the skin of her collarbone. 

“They make their own constellations, you know. And I like to think that I know them as well as I know the ones in the sky.” He bends down and kiss a prominent freckle just above her left breast. “This one might be my favourite. No, wait. Maybe this one.” He swirls his tongue around a small one that sits exactly between her breasts, and Jemma’s breath hitches. He hides his smirk by nuzzling against her abdomen. “Or could it be these ones?” And he traces a long line on her side from her hip to her ribs, where there is a great patch of small and bigs freckles.     

“Fitz.” Her voice is hoarse with a tint of desperation, and he knows that this particular game is over, but he is only getting started. He moves up a little until he can kiss her, planning on a light, soft kiss, to go with the way that he was just touching her. Jemma has other plans, and grabs the back of his neck, her nails clawing slightly on the soft skin there, and pulls him down for a hungry kiss.

Fitz moans against her lips, but breaks apart when she tries to push her tongue between his teeth. 

“Your mouth, god, Jemma, _ your mouth. _ I can not count how many dreams I had that _only_ featured your mouth. The amount of time I spent daydreaming about kissing you. And now…” He doesn’t have words to convey what he wants to say, so he kisses her again, this time giving free rein to the intensity of what he feels for her. Jemma grabs his face between her two hands, and they kiss and they kiss and they kiss until they both feel breathless and dizzy with it like teenagers.

When Jemma starts playing with the buttons of his shirt- a reflex action she always has when they have been kissing for too long- he moves from her mouth to her cheek, her jaw, just behind her ear, and nibbles on her earlobe until she moans against his neck. He lavishes her neck down with his tongue towards her collarbone and her solar plexus until he reaches her breasts.

“Hello, ladies.”

Jemma laughs then, and Fitz leaves his palm pressed flat between her breasts so he can feel her ribcage going up and down. 

“You are definitely a boobs’ man, Leopold Fitz.”

He makes a noncommittal sound before swirling his tongue around one of her nipples. There are some things that work better when done that when told.

“Does it feel nice?”

“Wha’?”

“When I touch them, I mean.”

“Mmmh. A little bit. It feels better the more aroused I am.”

She is honest and straight-forward as she usually is, and Fitz hums a little, his eyes still focused on where his hands are gently drawing circles over the soft flesh.

“Well, I like playing with them, so I will have to make sure that it’s, ah, pleasurable for you too, then.”

Jemma smiles at him, and caress his cheek while he kisses the slope of one of her breasts and then the other. He wonders for a moment about how the contrast of the cloth of his shirt might feel against her naked and overheated skin, and that thought makes his mouth go dry while he moves down her abdomen. 

“I can live with that.”   

He breathes deeply, because now comes a tricky but important part, and he doesn’t want to muck it up.   

“I also like these.” And he strokes the scars on her abdomen, his touch feather-light. ”I mean, I don’t like that you had to go through everything that provoked them, but I like that they remind me that you are strong, Jemma, so strong.” She is looking at him with unreadable eyes, and he dares to lean down and barely kiss a small one just above her navel. “They remind me that we fought hard to be alive and to be together and to have this happiness, and that we deserve it, we deserve it so much.”

There are no tears on her eyes but a fierce determination while she nods slightly.

“Yes, we do.”

He keeps going down with a trail of kisses until he reaches her right knee, because he had a point but he doesn’t want the mood to turn thick and somber. 

“Have I ever told you that you have killer legs?”       

“Do you mean that I could kill a man with them? Because Daisy showed me a few new moves, but I don’t think I’m _ that  _ above the learning curve. Yet.”

Fitz laughs against her skin, and Jemma flashes him a grin.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind dying between them, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god, Leopold Fitz, come up here right now. You need to bleach that line with kisses before it’s forever embedded in my memory.”

“Uh-uh. I pretty like it down here.” He nuzzles the inside of her knee, right where he knows she is most ticklish, just to make her squirm, and then bites gently on her inner thigh. “And I think you quite like me down here, too.”

“Well, maybe when you your mouth is too occupied to make bad puns, I do.”

“How dare you.” There is no real heat behind his words, not when he is kissing up her thigh with his eyes closed, too focused on the feeling of her skin on his lips and the way her muscles react to his wake. “I thought you liked me just the way I am, too.”

“Well, you also said that you wanted to show me how much you like sex with me. So.”

He knows her well enough to try to reply again; there is no way she won’t have the last word on this. He doesn’t waste his energy trying to one-up her when he could be doing so many better things. Instead, he deviates the attention somewhere else. Sort of.

“I really really enjoy the way that you are unabashed about your pleasure. How sure you are of what you like and how you don’t doubt to ask for it. And by that I mean that I enjoy it, my-trousers-are-too-tight-to-be-comfortable enjoy it.” She is squirming uncontrollably under him, even while he is trying to hold down her hips with his hands. “If you don’t think I like you, you should see how wrecked I am after giving you an orgasm.”

“That’s because you love me, and you like to make me feel good. Not because you are objectively attracted to me.”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“No, they aren’t.”

“Well, for me they are.” He waits for her to say something, to disagree further, but she is only looking at him with an intensity that is making him feel choked up, so he looks away. “And what even is ‘objectively attracted’? There is nothing objective about attraction, Jemma, you know that.”

This is the moment when she starts speaking about symmetry and other proven factors that improve sexual attractiveness, but she is silent for so long that he starts getting uncomfortable. 

“Fitz.” Her voice is soft and makes the fine hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. “Come up here.”

He obliges, and lays down facing her. This time he lets her unbutton his shirt, and after she opens it, Jemma leans closer to kiss him, a kiss that is all firm lips and reassurance. It’s her kind of apologize kiss, and he wonders what she is apologizing for.

“Jemma, what-?”   

“I’m sorry.”     

He puts enough distance between them to be able to look her in the eyes, confused. Her face looks soft, but serious. 

“What for?”

“For doubting the intensity of your experiences just because you feel them in a different way than I do.” 

His first instinct is, of course, to dismiss her apology, but that hasn’t worked so well for them in the past, and maybe it’s time that they start taking each other seriously about this kind of issue. Maybe it will be better if they start acknowledging thay they are, in fact, separate people with different emotions and different ways of living life.      

“It’s okay. We are not the best communicators ever, but we are learning, and all I can ask for is that you try.” Jemma licks her lips and nods, and Fitz gives her one more short, firm kiss on the lips before turning on again his saucy grin. “And I really mean it when I say how much I like you, and the opportunity of showing it.”

“Yeah?” Her voice sounds breathless again, and he loves that they can use this as an opportunity to grow, but that learning doesn’t rule out the fun times. Jemma slides her naked leg over his clothed one, and Fitz can feel _how much_ he likes her throbbing in his pants. “Why don’t you keep on showing me, then?”  

* * *

She is just about to leave for the lab the next morning when she finds it, the box with the note. She reads it, and quickly opens the box to find [a blue lingerie set](http://assets.myntassets.com/assets/images/1156486/2016/3/28/11459145075731-Lady-Love-Blue-Lace-Lingerie-Set-LLSET4071-6481459145075528-2.jpg). 

_ You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want, of course. _

_ But in case you still believe that I’m not interested in seeing you in this kind of thing, just know that I almost had to run over an old lady to pay for this, or else the entire store would have found out what thinking of you in this makes me feel. The “I feel you in my pants” kind of feel.  _

_ Love, (and other things, too) Fitz.  _

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @florchis at tumblr, drop by to tell me what you think of this, give me a prompt or just say hi!
> 
> Title from "Just give me a reason" by Pink! I keep writing from the ladies' POV after The Framework (two fics for Jemma, one for Daisy, and counting), just because I wouldn't know how to deal with Fitz's head right now. This is not me trivialising how terrible and hard this whole experience was/is for him, this is just me pulling the focus a little so I can cope with this storyline too.
> 
> This story is part of LLF Comment Project, whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Prompts
>   * Image reactions
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * This author replies to comments.
> 



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